by S. E. Hall
The next morning I'm slow to rise and spend most of it in my pajamas, puttering around. God bless Saturdays. I re-do my nails a cheerful bright pink, wash sheets, and water all my plants, feeling caught up and accomplished. Then, I tackle the dreaded mail pile. It's a "quirk" about me, one that Brady and Dylan both love to ridicule. I refuse to conform to online billing and automatic drafts. They take money out of your account? Bullshit! Yes, I realize it's on a set date, but who remembers all of them, every month? Not me. Nor do I want the agony of opening a new bill each day, so my system is stack all week, open everything all at once on the weekend.
Brilliant, I say.
Halfway through the pile, my plan's failing already, dismay settling in by the fifth invoice, when the bottom of my stomach drops, as well as my jaw.
There's an envelope from Dr. Reynolds' office. My test results.
Even though he assured me it was most likely the douche that caused the initial inconclusive results, there's still a chance of something else, something serious. My heart's racing, a throb building in my temple as unsteady hands struggle to open the letter.
Blowing out a joyful squeal, my eyes read down the column of one "normal" after another. I leap to my feet, tossing the letter in the air as I jubilantly bust out a happy dance.
Shaking my ass, arms above my head, I send up a silent "thank you" to Heaven followed by an air blown kiss. After a few more ridiculous moves, my body begins to slow, breathing heavily, but happily.
I'm okay.
And then...I'm so much more than okay. When I bend down to pick up the strewn papers from the floor, a small Post-it falls out.
In masculine, but surprisingly legible handwriting, the words jump off the page and tug ruthlessly at the depths of me.
Addison, Had these rushed. No more worries, you're perfect. Dr. R
I'm pretty level headed, except lately, and somewhat of a realist, so I've already second guessed the double-entendres of the phrases he's used, the heavy breaths I thought I heard and every other "little something" my mind's been telling me was there. Yes, I'm young and admittedly not well-seasoned on matters of the heart or to gyno visits and what they normally entail. But I am positive—heart fluttering, full-body tingles, panties sweating positive that the note currently crushed to my chest is special.
Too anxious to worry or even recall the fact that it's Saturday, I grab my phone, fingers itching to dial, unsure yet of my guise or master plan... I just have to act, have to jump and see where I fall.
Divinely, someone picks up on the second ring. "Dr. Reynolds' answering service."
Crap. I chomp down on my bottom lip. "Oh, yes hello. Um, so the office isn't open today?"
"No ma'am, but we can help you. Is this an emergency?"
"N-no, not an emergency," I stammer, contemplating if my racing pulse can be declared an emergency.
"Are you an expectant mother or in labor?"
"No, I—" My words fall off. Think! What do I want? "I need to make an appointment," I recite calmly. There we go—agenda set on its own.
She proceeds to ask me a series of way too intrusive questions to ascertain if my appointment can indeed wait and be scheduled at a later date. I pass her test, insisting I need to get on the books as soon as possible. In her monotone rambling, she recites several days and times as choices, and I immediately cut in and choose the soonest—Monday at four.
Excellent.
Only two days away and merely an hour of work missed. The rest of the weekend, said no one, ever, drags by.
Chapter 10
Feeling good, fresh as a daisy and sexy as ever, I'm perched on the edge of the exam table, fully dressed and impossibly anxious, swinging my crossed ankles back and forth in anticipation. I'd opted not to don the robe, mildly confident that the brilliant excuse I've concocted doesn't call for it, but took care of all my pre-game prep, minus the douche, in case it does.
Unlike before, when he knocks lightly and sticks his head in today, I'm not trying to make myself as small as possible with my head down. Rather, my chin and chest are up and proud, my eyes meeting his dead-on.
"Hi, Dr. Reynolds," I greet him first.
"Addison," he draws out my name in a low, tantalizing hum and steps fully inside, shutting the door behind him. "To what do I owe the pleasure?"
My guess would be that smile, voice, body and sexual prowess. But just a guess.
"The appointment sheet says you called over the weekend. Everything alright? Did you get your results? They were mailed the other day, all normal." Eyes taking on concern, he steps closer.
"I got them, yes and I saw, perfect. Thank you." I suck in my bottom lip, allowing the words to linger and speak for themselves.
With a hint of a blush, his unease disappears, replaced with a playful sparkle in his dazzling eyes. "You got my note then?"
Still chewing my bottom lip flirtatiously, I answer with a nod.
No mistaking it, he releases a low hiss, his eyes skating over me once. I uncross my legs and place my hands on each side of myself on the table, waiting for him to take the lead.
He clears his throat and steps back as if escaping a trance. "What can I help you with today?"
"I'd like to start some birth control."
I'd googled "top reasons women go to the gyno" and this was the least unpleasant topic and can't be disproven. Plus, if things in reality ever catch up to my dreams, I'll need it. The ideal ploy.
"Oh?" Both his dark brows shoot to his matching hairline. "That was fast. You just adamantly declined needing it not too damn long ago."
Did he just cuss?
He takes a seat on his stool. "What's changed?"
I laugh and give him a questioning smirk of my own. You'd think the doctor in the room would understand precisely what change would make a woman suddenly need birth control, but I realize the hilarity could backfire and my laughter's cut short. I don't want him to think I'm unavailable. Shit! Curse fake plans and their unforeseen potholes.
"Nothing, yet. I just figured…" I shrug, glancing around the room with nonchalance. "Since I'm taking care of everything else, might as well be prepared there too."
He remains silent, regarding me with curious eyes a few moments before finally consulting the chart. "Did you have a particular method in mind?"
"Nope. Can you tell me the options?"
"The most common of course, is a daily birth control pill. Women your age, nonsmokers, have good results with it, and it's the most affordable up front."
"What if you forget to take it?" I question. "And don't a lot of women gain weight from it?"
He nods, setting down the chart and making eye contact, apparently ready to have a natural conversation. "Those are both concerns I hear quite often. Another option is the Depo shot. It lasts for three months at a time, so you don't have to worry about forgetting anything." He grins. "Except scheduling the next shot. I will warn you though, a lot of recipients experience months of bleeding initially, then none at all. And weight gain's a common complaint with this one as well."
"They should hire you for PR," I jest. "Lemme think." I tap my chin. "A pill I'll probably forget or a needle, with month-long periods and extra weight. Hmmm, tempting, but I'll pass, on both."
He chuckles and nods. "Okay, what about an IUD?"
"Which is?"
"Intrauterine Device. Let me show you one." He stands and opens the door, asking a nurse to bring him a Mirena demo.
Meanwhile, I'm breaking down word parts to figure out what we're talking about here.
Intra-in.
Uterine-my uterus.
Device-technical, scary word, especially when preceded by IN.MY.UTERUS.
My mouth's open, fully prepared to bark "next," when he shuts the door and sits down in front of me again.
"This is an IUD." He holds up a small piece of T-shaped plastic. "It's inserted into your uterus and you use the small threads to check its placement once a month. After inserted, neither you nor your partner shou
ld be able to feel it." He gently takes my hand and places the device in my palm so I can familiarize myself.
"It can last as long as five years, or five days, you choose. The effective rate is over 99% and is completely reversible at any time."
I eye the tiny possibility I'm holding. "Does it hurt?"
"When it goes in, you'll feel a brief pinch and there may be mild cramps or even bleeding for a few days after, but then you should be fine. Also, it's unlikely, but if you were to become pregnant with the IUD in place, it will almost definitely cause an ectopic pregnancy."
My head snaps up at that and a frown curves his lips at my bleak expression. Is there no flawless birth control out there?
"Sorry, just want you to have all the facts."
"I understand." Someday I'd love children but I'm not there yet. "Anything else?" I ask.
"Yes, and this is very important." He rolls an inch closer, expression turning deadly serious. "An IUD isn't recommended for women who aren't monogamous. Are you planning on a relationship…is he?"
"Wh—" I squeak, abhorred. I shove my body back, spine pin straight. "Can you ask that? He who? You…ugh," I growl, flustered to the point of incoherency.
"Addison," his voice is low and sinister as he places a firm hand on my knee and squeezes, "an IUD leaves you highly susceptible to infection. I can't advise it in good faith and I'll refuse to insert it unless you can assure me you fully understand the risk."
How has this appointment taken such an ugly, drastic turn? I wanted to see him, and my safe excuse plan is backfiring like a rusty old truck. Did I not already tell him this was precautionary? There is no he, yet... and I'd wasted my time coming today since Dr. Reynolds is obviously under the assumption I'm ready to "cat around" with...someone who's not him.
My embarrassment at how grossly I'd misread things, conjuring up this apparently non-existent, cockamamie connection that's left me the fool, quickly morphs to anger.
"Never mind." I shake my head, fighting back threatening, humiliated tears. I attempt to scramble down from the table as quickly and gracefully as possible. "I-I was just researching," I mumble.
"Addison." The hand on my arm, as stern as his gravelly voice, stalls my hasty, teary retreat.
"I'm fine. This was…I just…thought I'd play it safe but…" I blow out a sigh, ending my rambles.
"Sit back down, please." His tone is soft, sweet, coercing; I settle again on the table, eyes downcast. "Take a breath."
Long, silent moments pass and I remain stoic in my tight-lipped avoidance, so he gently lifts my chin, forcing to me to look at him. "If you want the IUD, and can promise me that you'll ask any guy you date to be tested before intercourse…then I'll put it in." His hand falls away. "I'm sorry if I upset you. That wasn't my intention, I just…want you safe is all."
"Thank you," I say in a whisper. Rebuilding my confidence, I look him in the eyes and ask, "Can you put it in today?"
"Yes."
"Okay, I want the IUD…today…and I promise I'll be safe."
He says nothing, only offers a slow nod of understanding. "Go ahead and undress." He pulls a robe from a drawer and hands it to me. "I'll be back in a couple minutes."
"Okay," I echo my previous response.
He searches my eyes, where I'm sure he finds curiosity mixed with a hint of excitement, but no anxiety or fear. His lip quirks slightly before he seemingly comes to terms with my decision and turns to leave the room.
I undress and pull on the robe like the pro I'm becoming. By the time I'm back in place on the table, his knock sounds.
"Come in," I call out and watch as the door opens and he steps in holding a tray.
I lie back and he rolls the stool to the end of the table and guides my feet into the stirrups. At this point it's routine, no spoken directions, our movements syncing rhythmically.
"You ready?" he asks.
I tuck my arms behind my head to help prop me up a bit. "Yeah."
There's the familiar coolness of the speculum, his fingers spreading me as he slides it in. "Alright, here we go. You're gonna feel a little stick when I place the IUD and that's it."
The stick is more like a shot to a place you really don't want one. I suck in a deep hiss through gritted teeth at the stab, my entire body clenching. It's quick though, and before I even completely open my tightly closed eyes, I feel the speculum sliding out.
"All done." I hear the tool clank down on the tray followed by the pop of his gloves as he pulls them off. "You okay?"
I catch my breath. "It felt like a bee flew in there and stung me."
He chuckles softly, still on his stool between my open legs. "Sorry. Wish there was something I could do."
"Do you?" That just came out but I don't wish it back. I leave it out there for him to decipher, which he does.
Highly attuned to the shift in the air, I feel a soft brush along my inner thigh, seconds before a warm stream of breath tickles my flesh, directed at my center. His breath? I peer down at him over my stomach but all I see is his hair. It's unmistakable though. He's blowing on me soothingly and then…I suck in a deep inhale when I feel his hands on my inner thighs, so close to where I ache for him.
Are we really doing this?
"Addison…" he rumbles, voice unsteady.
"Yes." I arch upward, answering both of our unspoken questions, giving him permission.
His hand cups my sex, taking what he wants, his breathing staggered and echoing around us.
I wiggle in a pleading move and his hand brushes down over me, slowly parting my damp center. His finger caresses, flicking over my clit.
"Please," I moan.
That's all it takes to compel him further, a thick, strong finger slipping inside me, stroking with deliberate but gentle motions. His other hand grips my thigh, as though for support, as his thrusting grows faster, more urgent. I counter, slamming myself downward, riding now two fingers shamelessly, shocked but delighted that I feel no pain, only ecstasy.
It feels torturously right, everything I'd been craving, or so I thought… until his rough tongue wisps over my clit and I cry out, knowing "everything" just got so much better. That's all it takes for me to come undone right there on the exam table and I'm lost, conscious of nothing but the wave of tingling bliss rolling its way through my entire body.
He slows his ministrations, lapping gently as I ease back down to Earth, then slides his fingers out as he rises to stand, towering over me. He holds me captive in his stare, chin and mouth still glistening of "me," as unsure of what to say as I am. My ogle wanders over his broad chest to pants, drawn tight, perfectly outlining his massive erection. I sit up, ready to relieve him when he steps back and turns around.
"T-that shouldn't have happened," he stammers. "I'm sorry. I've never…with a patient… I-I've never—"
"I wanted you to. Blame me."
He turns back to face me just as another knock interrupts us. I'm probably his longest appointment ever. I can only imagine what the other patients or worse, the nurses, think.
"I have to go," he says, walking to the door.
"Of course."
He gives a curt nod and opens the door when I say in a whisper, "Thank you."
Chapter 11
As though drifting on a cloud, I float mindlessly around the gym the next morning, afterglow still on megawatt.
Say goodbye to my little blue friend.
So much better when delivered by the firm, capable hands of a sexy, titillating man.
It may have ended somewhat uncomfortably, but the beautiful damage was already done, the effects still a tingling reminder between my legs.
Just thinking back to it, his deep, heavy breaths, my legs wide and seductive as he strummed my body like his favorite instrument, has me wet and wanting to make a whole damn album.
"What's got you smiling?"
I jolt as Brady sneaks up behind me and husks in my ear, blushing wildly, afraid he can read my mind. "H-hey," I sputter, shaking off residual
ecstasy. I tilt my head to him. "Nothing really, just in a good mood."
"Mhmm," he hums, leaning in closer to run his nose up to my neck. "Fuck, you smell like sin, Moe."
It's probably the pheromones. Every dog in the clinic will like me today.
While I'm caught in drifting thoughts, he's somehow managed to entwine our hands and sequester me in the men's locker room.
Oh no. I know what he does in here! I'm not that horny!
"Brady," I look around, shocked that he's dragged me in here so quickly, "What the—how'd—what are we doing in here?"
He laughs and taps my nose. "Not that, unless of course, you beg." His playful simper edged with seriousness. "Kidding. I just wanted to talk to you, privately."
"Okay," I hedge.
"There's something here," he croons.
"What? Where?" Hyperaware of the dank locker room, I warily look around again.
"No, not in this room. You know what I'm talking about, Moe."
"I do?" I reply in a passive drivel.
"Don't play coy with me. Things are different between us. We're not the same friends we used to be. It's all I can think about." He steps into me and moves a piece of hair behind my ear.
Why, oh why, does he have to go there? No way I'm answering him and especially not agreeing, instead eyeing him suspiciously as the crickets chirp. But he waits for me to shatter the calm.
"Brady," I mutter, voice shaky, eyes cast at the ground. "We can't."
"Can't what?" He bends and ducks his head below mine, forcing me to look at him. "So you do know what I'm talking about. Which must mean you feel it too?"
"Women in Antarctica can feel it," I deflect in cowardice. "You're single, gorgeous, successful, brilliant..." My words die off softly.
"So half as amazing as you then." He slides a finger under my chin and guides my dropped head up. "Only care what you're feeling, Moe."
Brady... my friend, truly the best one I have. My rock, my always and unfailing, my dependable. No way am I risking that.
My head must be shaking with the protest I'm devising because his hand shoots out and slams against the locker he's backed me up to, startling me.
